The Penthouse
by KarenES
Summary: Rayna's POV Ep. 1x12, I've Been Down That Road Before. Post-elevator, pre-Teddy. ONE SHOT. The song playing in this scene in the ep. is "Emmylou" by First Aid Kit. If you have not downloaded it, please do - it is gorgeous and very applicable to the Rayna/Deacon storyline.


_What the hell just happened … What the hell just happened … What the hell …_

The question looped through her mind, timed to the plodding of her feet, as she picked them up and set them down, one in front of the other, making her way blindly from the elevator, _turn left,_ down the hallway, _turn left,_ to the penthouse.

She stopped in front of a door. Penthouse 1. Fished around inside her purse.

_Don't think about it, just get into the room … just get into the room ..._

Rayna gave up on her bag and patted her pockets, finally finding the key card in her jeans.

The green light flashed and she pushed the door open, marching in, dropping her purse and walking past the couch to the window. She reached the end of the space but found she could not stand still; her feet would not stop moving. She paced up and down, looking out at the Chicago skyline but not seeing a thing.

_The solid heft of the wall, suddenly pressed against her back. That's what she felt first. He had come at her, full body, no warning, and shoved her up against the elevator wall, pinning her there, holding her still with his chest and his mouth, suddenly on hers, his left hand caressing the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair…_

"What the _hell was that, Deacon?!"_

Rayna spoke the words aloud, to an empty room, her heart pounding, hands clenched into fists at her side.

_The taste of him, overwhelming her, so familiar and yet not … no liquor on his breath. Only salty lips and his right arm firmly encircling her waist, pulling her closer …_ _She resisted for a moment as he sighed, and pulled away: What the hell was happening? What had she missed?_

_"Well .. I just need t'know what you're …. what you're …"_

_"Rayna!"_

_His voice, calling her out, his tone impatient with her just like in rehearsal, when he needed her to pipe down and understand._

_"Rayna! Watch me for a cue at that bridge. You came in half a measure back last time …"_

_"Rayna! You're tryin' t'make the audience understand in their heads what you're singin' … make 'em feel it in their hearts instead …"_

_"Rayna! I'm done talkin'..."_

She unwound her scarf and shrugged off her jacket, dropping them on the couch when she passed by, suddenly hot and bothered, still unable to settle anywhere, not on the couch or at the window or over by the bar.

What the _fuck_ was he thinking?

Their truce, a dozen years' unbreached, their unspoken understanding – all of it wiped away in a split second. They could get only so close and no closer, they both knew that: Lived and died by it. They could not risk closing the distance between them or it would disappear forever. And then, in two steps, he had traveled across those dozen years, broken through that polite bubble they had reserved for each other. And he had pushed her against that wall, pinned her down, made the decision for both of them.

She pressed her hands to her mouth, finding her lips still swollen from their contact with his. She was about to jump out of her skin, overwhelmed now with guilt: The way she had responded to him, fully and unreservedly - done talking, done thinking, herself.

Did he know how weak she was? How she'd been avoiding sex with Teddy, sleeping in the guest room, consumed with his memory day and night? Did he know that it killed her, seeing him sharing a stage with Juliette, hearing about how strange it was, the two of them apart? Nodding and smiling when people told her it was a good thing, finally putting some distance between them?

Of course he knew. He always knew. And, no. Being apart from him was not good; she hated it, no matter how happily she nodded. Hated the distance and the silence and the way he was freezing her out. Hated, most of all, hated his anger, smoldering against her.

_"I'll try t'stay outta your way. I guess you made the right choice, then … him over me. All I know is, you could'a waited for me… you lost faith in me…"_

Had she? Once, twice, third time's the charm. And then the fourth, and the fifth. But oh, it would be different this time, a different treatment protocol, a new outlook on life, taking it one day at a time. How many chances did he get? Not for her, she could endure; but then for someone else, another life in the balance, another person who would be sentenced to this purgatory, who would live their not-so-private hell. And her career, always there, hanging in the balance: That was harder to admit, even to herself.

Had she lost faith? _Hell_, how could she not?

_He had stared at her for a moment, holding her gaze, then tightened his arms around her, dipping his knees and raking his body full-length against hers in a way that he knew drove her wild, his mouth finding hers again, not letting her go this time, not allowing another protest to escape from her lips. And she hadn't protested, hadn't the strength to do more than slide her arms around him, find his taut shoulder muscles, rake her hands through his hair, the back of his neck …_

Rayna pressed her hands together under her chin, still unable to quiet the pounding of her heart. She walked into the bedroom and flipped the switch: Her pelvic muscles clenched at the sight of the king-sized bed there and she realized she was wet, and weak, and oh-so-lonely.

_If she called him… One text message … He would be here in a moment, undressing her, pulling her down with him into the dark softness of this mattress, rolling her on top of the covers, pinning her beneath him, hands roaming over her, hungry mouth devouring her …Oh god, it had been such a long time ... And she wanted him so badly, wanted him to finish what he had started._

_And then afterward, laughing, petting, legs tangled up together: How much have we missed this? A lot … a lot..._

She turned away, turned off the light walked back to the living room, finally calm enough to sit down and think. Then she stood up, and walked over to her purse and fished out her phone, a dozen years of resistance crumbling around her faster than she'd ever imagined it could.

_Deacon … Talk? PH1_

She looked at the words a moment, heart in her throat, convinced that what she did next would seal her fate. That conversation that he started in the elevator could not move to her room and involve any serious talking, not for a long while. She knew it and so did he, down in his room, lying on his bed, holding his breath, knowing she wanted him, waiting for his phone to ring.

She took a deep breath: It was time. It was a dozen years past time...

_Send_


End file.
